Suddenly we changed our direction. We were near Cape Hellas, which is the lowest point of the Peninsula of Gallipoli. Under Sir Ian Hamilton's scheme, it was here that a decoy party was to land to draw the Turks from Anzac. Simultaneously, an overwhelming force was to land at Suvla Bay and at Anzac, to make a surprise attack on the Turks' right flank. Presently, we were going up shore past the wrecked steamer _River Clyde_, the famous "Ship of Troy," from the side of which the Australians had issued after the ship had been beached; past the shore hitherto nameless, but now known as Anzac. Australian, New Zealand, Army Corps, those five letters stand for; but to those of us who have been on Gallipoli, they stand for a great deal more: they represent the achievement of the impossible. They are a glorious record of sacrifice, reckless devotion, and unselfish courage. To put each letter there cost the men from Australasia ten thousand of their best soldiers. And so we edged our way along, fearing mines, or, even more disastrous than mines, discovery by the enemy. From the Australasians over at Anzac, we could hear desultory rifle fire. Once we heard the boom of some big guns that seemed almost alongside the ship. Four hours it took us to go fifty miles, in a destroyer that could make thirty-two knots easily. By one o'clock, the stars had disappeared, and for perhaps three quarters of an hour we edged our way through pitch darkness. We gradually slowed down, until we had almost stopped. Something scraped along our side. Somebody said it was a floating mine, but it turned out to be a buoy that had been put there by the navy to mark the channel. Out of the gloom directly in front some one hailed, and our people answered. "Who have you on board?" we heard the casual English voice say. Then came the reply from our colonel: "Newfoundlanders." There was to me something reassuring about that cool, self-contained voice out of the night. It made me feel that we were being expected and looked after. "Move up those boats," I heard the English voice say, and from right under our bow a naval launch, with a middy in charge, swerved alongside. In a little while it, with its string of boats, was securely fastened. [Illustration: Underwood & Underwood, N.Y. Allies landing reinforcements under heavy fire of Turks in Dardanelles] Just before we went into the boats, the adjutant passed me. "Well," he said, "you've got your wish. In a few minutes you'll be ashore. Let me know how you like it when you're there a little while." "Yes, sir," I said. But I never had a chance to tell him. The first shrapnel shell fired at the Newfoundlanders burst near him, and he had scarcely landed when he was taken off the Peninsula, seriously wounded.